Trapped in the castle!

Curfews, travel warnings, border closures - not only nomads among us have to live with many restrictions right now. In times like these, a sweet memory can make the time more enjoyable, like this one:

We explore the Andalusian hinterland with a rental car. There is a lot to discover off the traditional tourist paths, wild cork oak forests, seemingly endless orange groves, ancient olive groves, and small white villages that are not mentioned in any guidebook.

We pass by a farm where a huge mountain of freshly harvested oranges is lying. A black-dressed señora is sitting there, inspecting the harvest. Zappa stops and sends me off: go and buy two of those bright fruits! I enter through the wide gate and the old lady now curiously inspects me. I greet her politely and ask for two naranjas. She looks incredulously at the mountain in front of her and claims: dos kilos! No, no, we just want to try, two fruits are enough. She picks two oranges from the pile, hands them to me, and doesn't want any money for this silliness, it is un regalo!

With joy, I return to the car, but before we enjoy the juicy gifts, we want to explore a castle ruin in the next village. It is situated high above the village on a steep, unconquerable rock. Hard granite walls protected the fortress from malicious attackers a long time ago, but the ravages of time have gnawed at the walls and there is not much left of the proud noble residence.

On the premises, there is a small chapel and a well-kept garden with bright red cocktail tomatoes, surrounded by a thick five-meter-high stone wall. Apart from us, no one has lost their way here, only a few painters are working in the chapel. We climb around in the ruins, from where one has a breathtaking view of the land, the white village below us, the distant mountains, and the fruit and olive plantations all around. We can't get enough of the scenery and completely forget about time.

Then the bell of the nearby village church rings, it's already noon, and yes, our stomachs are starting to growl. The fresh oranges are waiting in the car and with some bread, we will surely find a picnic spot in the warm sun.

We climb down from the tower of the old castle and make our way back. The craftsmen who were busy in the chapel are nowhere to be seen, they are probably also taking a siesta. We reach the little gate through which we entered the garden. Strange, it won't open. No shaking or rattling, no trick or clattering of the handle will help, the door is locked! Odd, why is that? So, back through the garden - I have to pass those bright red tomatoes again - there is a second entrance here. A large metal gate decorated with ornaments, and it's locked too!

Now we make our way to the chapel to see if anyone is still here who can help us leave the premises. But it seems the diligent artesanos are enjoying their well-deserved lunch break somewhere else, it is desolate, only a lonely paintbrush lies in the corner.

Surrounded by a high stone wall, on a steep, smooth, inhospitable rock, cut off from the Spanish outside world, and with loudly rumbling stomachs, we are locked in during siesta time. And no one can say for sure how long it will last and if the painters will even come back today.

Back to the other side, through the garden, past the bright red tomatoes, we inspect the fortress-like wall. I can't find any escape route, but the sudden sparkle in Zappa's eyes: just imagine it like in Wickie, with flashes and stars, only the snapping of fingers is missing.

He drags me back to the chapel - through the garden with the bright red fruits! The painters have left a ladder behind, a very tall ladder. Not a modern, Central European aluminum ladder, but an incredibly heavy, medieval-looking one made of welded steel pipes, contradicting any German occupational safety regulations, with dangerously smooth rungs. The two of us now carry it together through the garden - past the bright red cocktail tomatoes, from which I now snatch one after all - to the wall at the other end of the premises.

The ladder is the necessary five meters long, I can now climb onto the wall and Zappa follows. Now we are both sitting on top and looking down. Jumping is out of the question, it's too high, broken bones would probably be the least of our worries. It's a good thing we are both free from vertigo, so now we can pull the ladder up to us with combined forces and hoist it onto the outside of the wall, without falling over!

Done it! Now it's child's play to climb down and gain freedom. On the other side, we lean the ladder against the wall and hope that the craftsmen will find their tool again in the foreseeable future and not be too surprised by its wandering history.

I take one last longing look at the bright red tomatoes, but a fresh, sun-orange orange is also not to be despised.